Nightbird and the New Directions
by estrafalaria103
Summary: After successfully defeating the Warblers and regaining the Nationals trophy, the New Directions need a new mission, and Blaine has the perfect one: Win Back Kurt. Together with the Chameleon, Asian Persuasion, and Dr. Y, Blaine sets out to win back the love of his life. AU in which the ND really gain powers.
1. The Superhero Society

_In a world where singing and dancing is a way of life, those who are chosen rise up in song and dance. . .usually at the same time. But when a new enemy threatens to silence them forever, a new breed of student is born. . ._

Blaine gazes proudly at his little band of misfits. They're all happily talking to one another, enthused about their successful battle with the Warblers. Blaine wants to join them in their celebration, but he knows better. The New Directions as a whole had beaten the Warblers, but they hadn't all gone in undercover. They hadn't all seen the depths of evil that Hunter was capable. They're celebrating a battle, but Blaine knows that the battle is far from won.

"Attention!" he says, banging a gavel down on the well-worn desk of McKinley's science room – and the most available space for the Sidekick and Heroes club. "Attention, fellow superheroes, attention!"

It takes a few minutes for everyone to calm down – a few minutes, along with Tina's persuasion and a little telepathic help from Artie – but eventually they all take their seats, even the overly-excitable new kids. Blaine smiles benevolently at them.

"Good job, team," he says, lifting up one hand to maintain silence when they start to titter again. "We've recovered the Nationals trophy. . .but our work is far from finished."

"Yes it is," Brittany says, raising her hands. "You can just turn it in blank – the teachers pretend it matters, but the worst that happens is that you fail."

"Unique wants to win Sectionals!"

"The Braniacs could certainly use a fundraiser for a new bus. . ."

"That. . .is not what I'm talking about," Blaine says, banging the gavel again. "I'm talking about using our powers for good – to fight evil. Not just to help us with glee club, or our homework – no offense, Britt."

"It's okay," the blond says, shrugging. "Maybe I can get Lord Tubbington to do it for me."

"Nightbird is right," Artie chimes in, wheeling himself over to sit beside Blaine. "We need a new superhero mission. . .something worthy of our newfound powers."

Marley tentatively raises her hand. "Should somebody go get Finn? Since he's in charge of glee club while Mr. Schuester is gone?"

"Oh my God, _no_," Tina says emphatically. "Finn is a complete and total idiot. We all love him, but we know he only got the job because Mr. Schuester felt sorry for him. Besides, his superhero name is Treble Clef. That's not even a real superhero name." Marley still looks a little uncertain. Blaine sighs, and motions for Tina to go ahead. She's smiling a little when she turns and says decisively, "I persuade you not to think about Finn again."

"I've got a great idea," Sam says. "Why don't we go to New York. We could fight to get Kurt back."

Blaine's in the minute that he hears New York. It's probably not the most ethical use of his new superpowers, but he can't help thinking that maybe when Kurt sees how he's turned his life around, he'll be willing to give them another chance. Still, he can't push away his memory of their last meeting. . .

_Relationships are about trust, and I can't trust you anymore_.

Before Blaine has the chance to say anything about it, however, the newbies are already talking excitedly.

"Unique needs to buy herself a new pair of shoes."

"I could totally get down with seeing St. John's – it's totally the biggest cathedral in the world."

"I'm sure Daddy would let me use his black Amex!"

Blaine raises one hand, pleased with the way that everyone's chatter almost instantly dies down. "That's a good idea, Sam," he says. Before any of the freshmen get the chance to get overly excited again, though, he continues. "Everyone isn't coming, though. . .just the mere essential personnel."

"That personnel better include Unique." Blaine is almost afraid to look at the sophomore. She's been a bit put out ever since discovering that, the one day she'd been absent, the choir room had been hit with a sudden shock of electricity, granting all of the members of New Directions new superpowers. Blaine doesn't have the heart to kick her out of the Superhero meetings, but the truth is that her only power is the ability to spot a bad weave from a block away.

"Sorry," Blaine says apologetically. "This one is going to be seniors only." Tina, Artie, and Sam instantly begin to clap their hands, while Brittany just looks confused. The newbies are looking angry, and Kitty is reaching for her whip, so Blaine hurries to explain. "We already have our college applications turned in, so we don't have to worry as much about missing a few classes. We don't know how long this mission is going to take, and we can't afford for people to start talking. Secret identities, remember?"

"Bro," Ryder says sadly, turning to Jake. "Mega Studs will have to wait to unleash our amazingly good looks and charm on the ladies of New York."

"S'okay," Jake shrugs, winking at Marley.

_Nightbird_. Blaine starts a little, still not used to hearing Artie's voice in his head. He tries not to turn toward his friend, aware that if Artie is using telepathy he probably doesn't want anyone else hearing. _Britt hasn't turn in her college apps yet. In fact. . .I think she's been going only to the classes that she passed last year._

Blaine sighs, and brushes at his hair, his hands coming away sticky and gel-encrusted. "Britt," he says, "you're staying behind, too. You have to go to _all_ your classes, not just Cheerios."

"I thought it would be easier to pass this year if I just go to the classes I'm good at."

"Oh, honey," Tina sighs. "It doesn't work like that."

"Well, it should," Brittany says. "School would be way more fun that way."

"Meeting dismissed," Blaine says, banging his gavel again. "I'll see you all in Glee Club in an hour."

Xxx

It turns out that when Sam had suggested going to New York he'd had an actual plan in mind – and it's not bad, at all. Sure, Blaine feels a little creepy turning over all of the old videos he'd taken at Kurt's house, so that his friend can practice imitating Burt Hummel, but it's all for a good cause. He and Kurt are _soulmates_, and that has to mean something.

Tina is able to Persuade four tickets for them when they arrive at the Lima airport that afternoon. She's also able to Persuade the TSA agent to keep him from checking Blaine's utility belt or Artie's tripped out chair.

"This power is the _best_," she mentions as they buckle themselves in to their plane seats. "I'm going to use it on Finn nonstop when we get back. I'm going to get _all_ the solos this semester!"

She pauses, and looks almost guiltily at the boys when she says that – Sam is conducting some kind of mouth exercises, however, and Artie already has his computer out, diligently searching for romantic excursions in New York. "Fine," Tina whispers to Blaine. "We can do a couple duets. We'll be like a platonic Finchel. . .Blina? Or Taine?"

"I prefer Blina," Blaine says honestly.

When they finally land in New York, Sam excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He emerges, ten minutes later, looking exactly like Burt Hummel. It's eerie, and Blaine can't seem to stop calling him 'Sir.'

"Parents must _love_ you," Tina says breathlessly. Blaine shrugs.

"He's a good kid," Sam says gruffly, laying a heavy hand on Blaine's shoulders.

"Okay, that's just creepy," Artie says. "Also, you didn't have to chameleon your way into being Mr. Hummel just yet – the plan is just to hit the hotel for tonight, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Burt's face falls for a moment, before Sam, almost guiltily, shapeshifts back into his normal face.

"Secret identities!" Blaine hisses, noticing the way that several passerbys are staring at them. "Tina, can you take care of this?"

"I Persuade you to forget about this," Tina says. The people who had been staring collectively shake their heads, as though confused, before shuffling away. "Do I have to do _everything_?"

"Not everything," Artie says chipperly. "I book us the hotel reservations and called us a taxi!"

xxx

While his friends are enjoying the HBO and free moisturizing, Blaine can't seem to tear himself away from the window. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow he's going to see Kurt again. And Kurt's going to listen, because Sam will pretend to be his father, and encourage them to "talk" and goodness knows that Kurt would never knowingly disobey his father. And if he does. . .if even having a Burt Hummel look-a-like isn't enough to make Kurt finally _listen_, then he'll have Tina Persuade him. . .

There's a sick twisting in Blaine's stomach at that though, though. Tina's new power is a little terrifying – he doesn't want to consider how close it comes to mind-control, how close it is to a total invasion of Kurt's rights. Tina's explained that it's not mind-control – she can't force anyone to do something that they really, sincerely don't want to do – but it's close enough to be sickening. Still. . .if that's what it takes, Blaine isn't sure that he'll turn down the offer. . .

His thoughts are interrupted by Artie screaming in his head, however, and he turns sharply, wishing in a distant part of his mind that he were still wearing his cape, because it would improve the drama of his twirl. "What is it?"

"Look!" Tina says, breathlessly pointing at the tv, that's depicting a break-in at a huge skyscraper downtown. "It's 's office. Isn't that where Kurt works?"

"Oh, God," Blaine breathes out. He doesn't have to say anything to his friends – they move like a team, quickly grabbing their superhero uniforms and throwing them on. Blaine is especially careful to make sure that his mask is fitted properly – he wants to make sure that Kurt is okay, but he does _not_ want to meet him in his Nightbird outfit. Tina has thought enough to put on a mask as well, a strange geisha-inspired peace with fans coming out of the side. Artie shrugs.

"Let's be honest," he says. "I'm not busting through any windows – I'll stay where Kurt can't see me and just use my mind."

Which only leaves Sam. Blaine tells him to shapeshift into some kind of a superhero. A moment later, he's staring at. . .

"Thor? Seriously?"

Sam shrugs. "It's all I could think of! And changing my hair is a bitch. . .at least he's a blond!"

Blaine shakes his head. "Okay, listen," he says. "Vogue is down on 34th Street. I'll get there faster by rooftop, but obviously you guys will need to take. . .more conventional transportation. Just please. . .get there are soon as you can."

He doesn't wait for a response, before leaping out the window onto the fire escape. This time, Blaine notices with some satisfaction, his cape is appropriately affixed and provides for a very dramatic exit.

"Hold on, Kurt," he whispers to the night air, already feeling rejuvenated and alive. "I'm on my way."

**A/N: For those who read my other stories. . .I'm sooo sorry for the five that are left unfinished. HOpefully over winter break I'll have the chance to go back and fix them up. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but write this semi-crack, after seeing all the previews for Dynamic Duets. **


	2. The Raid on Vogue

12/30/2010

**A/N: Okay, how much fun was last night's episode? Answer: all the fun!**

Kurt Hummel is cursed. It's official. It's also the only explanation for his life. What else could possibly explain his experiences in high school? Proof positive of his curse:

Fell in love with a handsome jock. Handsome jock subsequently became his brother.

Discover that, for the first time ever, he has a best friend. Best friend develops crush on him.

Relentlessly bullied by the world's biggest closet case, who then sexually assaults him.

Falls in love with a sexy, dapper, handsome, talented, dreamy, _perfect_ guy.

Okay, so Blaine had broken the curse. But then Blaine had _cheated_ on him, so really, it all comes back to him being cursed. Which also explains how, the one night that he stays late at work, and the one night that he has to ask Rachel Barbra Berry to stop by with some dinner, is the night that is invaded by crazy, psychotic, black nylon-wearing gangsters.

"Oh my God!" Kurt gasps, wrenching a scarf out of one of the mobster's hands. "Don't touch that, it's Versace. This is worth more than your life, do you understand me?"

Rachel, meanwhile, is absolutely no help. While Kurt is – quite courageously he thinks – trying to single-handedly save all of Isabelle's samples, Rachel is sitting on a divan, surrounded by four of the masked cretins, grinning like the belle of the ball.

"Really, Kurt, they're not so bad," she titters. "Look, they're asking for my autograph! Clearly they have exquisite taste!"

"Rachel, they aren't. . .oh, for crying out loud, put _down the Manolos_!"

Kurt is on the verge of giving up – the gangsters seem to be getting frustrated with him, and have begun pulling out guns, they've already stuffed the entire Calvin Klein collection into their massive bags (he doesn't even want to _think_ about the dry cleaning bills to remove those wrinkles) and Rachel is still happily signing autographs of all things. He's letting go of the Versace scarf, letting the nylon-clad monstrosity take it from him, when there's a strange whirring sound from just outside. Moments later there's a sharp crash as the glass window suddenly bursts _inward_, shards flying and a black figure hurtling into the office.

Rachel screams, and hides behind her newfound admirers, who for their part do not seem terribly surprised at the interruption. Kurt lets out an undignified squawk, dropping to the ground and covering his face with his hands.

A heavy thud shakes the floor as the black figure hits heavily, rolling before running into one of the racks of clothing. One of the gangsters utters a short laugh as the figure draws itself up. Kurt peeks out from between his fingers.

It's a man, he realizes, starting at the feet (fantastic black boots, utilitarian but sleek and he'll have to ask the man where he got them) before slowly trailing his eyes up the body. The man is clad entirely in black, tight _tight_ black that outlines the taut muscles in his thighs and the. . .oh, Kurt really hopes that he's wearing a codpiece, because nobody deserves to be that well-endowed. A utility belt circles thin, trim hips and a tapered waist. There's some kind of strange, metallic armor around the man's chest, and an asinine blue cape encircles broad shoulders. Kurt's gaze is just trailing along a strong jawline when the man turns and smoothly kicks up, his leg almost _gliding_ through the air before abruptly connecting with one of the gangster's faces, sending him hurtling into the wall.

It's as though that one fluid motion shatters the tableau, and abruptly the office erupts into chaos. As the gangsters rearrange themselves to attack the new threat, Kurt grabs his Versace and scoots back into a clothing rack. His back hits something warm, and he realizes that Rachel had the same thought as him.

"Oh my God, _what_ is going on?" She hisses.

"I'm cursed," Kurt whispers back, keeping his eyes trained on the action the entire time.

The masked man – and Kurt can see now that he _is_ masked, a svelte, black piece that covers everything from his hairline to corners of his nose – moves like a boxer, weight kept low to the ground, preferring to punch than kick. But when he does kick – oh, lordy, the way the man moves, with the grace of an acrobatic, spinning and twisting across the floor. His movements are ballet-like, but every now and again he tangles himself in the stupid cape, only just barely recovering.

He's breathing in short gasps, now, and sweat is beading at his hairline. Kurt watches as tendrils of hair escape from the confines of their gel prison. Kurt sucks in a harsh breath. Blaine's hair does that when he's –

_No_.

There's a thudding sound from just outside the office's large oak doors, and Kurt jerks his head around to stare. It's probably more gangster-ninjas, he assumes, but that thought doesn't terrify him. Still, he reaches back and grabs at Rachel's hand as the door is flung open and in walks. . .

"Chris Hemsworth?" Rachel breathes. Kurt shakes his head.

"I think. . .uh. . .I think it's Thor?"

Apparently they're both wrong, though, as the masked man turns with a grin. "Chameleon!" he shouts, grabbing at the shoulders of one of the gangsters and throwing him through the air. "Catch!"

Thor manages to grab the man-missile, but staggers under the weight. "Ability to imitate, not the ability to gain powers!" Thor grunts. The masked man's mouth turns down, half chuckle and half abashed guilt.

"Right. Sorry." He reaches into the utility belt slung low around his hips and pulls out a long cable, which he tosses to the blond. Thor manages to catch this significantly more deftly. "Can you tie them up, at least?"

"Aye-aye, cap'n," Thor says in a cheeky voice.

It doesn't take much longer after that. The masked man swiftly dispatches the remaining gangsters while Thor trusses them up. Rachel begins shifting next to Kurt beneath the clothes hangers and he shushes her.

"Don't you dare, Kurt Eliza Hummel," she hisses. "This is the part where we come out, the beautiful damsels in distress, and gift our saviors with a sweet kiss of gratitude."

"Rachel," Kurt shakes his head. "You are seriously off your rocker."

When he turns from her face to look back into the office, however, he immediately finds himself staring into the biggest pair of green eyes he's ever seen – and _God_, this man must be wearing false lashes because nobody – _nobody_ – has eyelashes that thick and full. He's in a bit of a daze as he feels leather encircle his hand, and he's slowly pulled to his feet.

"Are you all right?"

Kurt doesn't answer, which is probably for the best, since he's not entirely certain the question is directed at him. The masked man is leaning over again, now offering a hand to Rachel to help her out. She, for her part has _that look_ in her eyes. It's her "saved by a man look" and Kurt just wants to bitchslap it off her stupid face. She's simpering, batting her eyelashes, and it's all just so horribly embarrassing.

However, it keeps the masked man's attention, which means that Kurt gets a nice view of his backside. . .if it weren't for the stupid, sparkly cape.

"Thank you so much for saving us, Mr. . ."

"Nightbird," the man says. "The nocturnal avenger."

"And I am the Blond Chameleon," Thor says, wandering over. Kurt frowns.

"Really? Because you kind of look like . ."

"Thor," the Blond Chameleon nods. "I know. Pretty awesome, right?"

Kurt frowns.

Nightbird abruptly spins around, his cape flaring dramatically behind him. "Blond Chameleon," he says sharply. "Let us go. The night is young, and there are more people to save."

"Yeah, sure thing, boss," Thor says, nodding his head. He smiles at Kurt and Rachel. "You guys might want to call the police," he says. "I'm not really all that great at tying knots."

The door slams shut behind them. Kurt shakes his head, as though clearing cobwebs or a bad dream from the forefront of his head.

"Hot damn," Rachel whispers. "Kurt, I know that we've always said that all of our dreams would come true in New York City, but I never realized that even my dream of being Mary Jane to a handsome, heroic Spiderman would also come true!"

She's staring at the door, hearts nearly bursting from her eyes. Oh, no, Kurt thinks. Absolutely note. Rachel Berry has gotten _everything_ she's ever wanted, has _always_ beaten him – from getting Finn, to the Defying Gravity solo, from getting into NYADA to even making out with _Blaine_ before him – but there is no way in hell that she is stealing the hot, gay new superhero from him. He's about to point that out, when she sighs and flutters one hand dramatically against her forehead.

"His dashing blond good looks are giving me the vapors, I do declare!"

Kurt stares at her. Blinks. Stares a little more. "Seriously?" he asks. "You want Thor? The guy who doesn't even know how to tie _knots_."

"Better than some overdressed Batman wannabe," Rachel snorts. Kurt sighs, and begins picking the Vivienne Westwood scarves off of the floor. Rachel joins him a moment later, hanging up a taffeta dress with only the _slightest_ of wrinkles. She gently pats his hand. "Please, Kurt," she says. "Nightbird was wearing the tightest black pants I've ever seen and was swishing a sparkly blue cape. He was more flaming than half the drag queens I've seen in this city."

Kurt's lips twitch a little at that even though, yeah, she has a point. "It's still silly," he feels the need to point out. "Neither of us are wilting wallflowers that need a man to rescue them."

"I know," Rachel says gently. "But we're also both single and, let's admit it, lonely, and it doesn't hurt to dream a little, does it?"

Kurt sighs, thinking about long dark lashes and hazel eyes. "No," he admits, "I suppose it doesn't."

**A/N: This superhero AU just keeps cracking me up. So silly.**

**COMING SOON: Sam Chameleons into Burt, Tina Persuades Rachel to spend the night in, Blaine tests out his NIghtbird Screech, and Artie begins to realize that the power of telepathy is actually pretty lame.**


	3. Hearts on Ice

12/30/2010

**A/N: A little bit of seriousness now – but what can you do? Also, Klaine needs to have a talk. Thank goodness for New Directions keeping things fun!**

Blaine shifts uneasily on his feet. Sam is a solid presence at his back, as are Tina and Artie just behind him. Still, it's all a little too reminiscent of the last time he'd stood in front of the large door in the Bushwick apartment – another surprise visit, another large bouquet of yellow and red roses held in sweaty hands. He takes a deep breath and knocks.

Within the apartment he can hear Rachel scurrying to the door, shouting that she'll get it. Blaine lets out his breath. Rachel isn't much happier with him than Kurt, but at least he's fairly certain that she won't slam the door in his face – if nothing else, her spindly arms aren't strong enough to do so.

The door slowly slides to the left, and Blaine slides with it, so that the first thing that Rachel sees as the door opens is Sam's face. Or rather. . .Sam's imitation of Burt Hummel.

Rachel's hands immediately fly to cover her mouth, and her eyes are dancing. "Oh, hello, Mr. Hummel!" she gasps. "Does Kurt know you're coming?"

"Nope," Sam says, heartily slapping Blaine on the back. "The kid here thought it would make for a nice surprise.

"The ki—" her eyes shift over, and she spots Blaine for the first time. He's still trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to hide behind the flowers. He thinks he sees Rachel's eyes narrow for a moment, but he can't be entirely sure.

"Well, Mr. Hummel, come in, please," Rachel says, stepping aside. She nods a little at Blaine as he follows close on her heels.

_Tina!_ Artie snaps. The senior sighs.

"I Persuade you not to notice us," she says dully. "Really, won't you guys ever lt me do anything cool with my power?

Everyone ignores her. Blaine can't seem to control his gaze, which is hopping around the room, noting all the small differences from the last time he'd been in the apartment. They've added some new furniture – Kurt's created new drapes to cordone off his bed area. On the table there is a pile of papers, which he gazes in passing. Mostly bills, it looks like, but there's a well-worn copy of their _Grease_ playbill. Something twists, hot and heavy, in Blaine's chest.

"Kurt!" Rachel sings out, a little trill at the end of her words. "You'll never believe who's here!"

"Did you and Brody finally make up?" Kurt asks, sticking his head out of what Blaine knows is the bathroom. "Is this your way of asking me to –"

Blaine can tell the exact moment that Kurt spots his father's face. His mouth turns into the biggest smile that Blaine's seen since. . .well, since the night of their break-up, actually. Kurt practically flies out of the bathroom, hurrying across the room to throw himself into Sam's arms. "Dad! What are you doing here? I thought you couldn't afford tickets!"

"Well, the modest Hummel's can't," Sam says amiably. "But _somebody_ remembered that it was your birthday, and wanted to make sure that you got the best gift ever."

"Somebody?" Kurt's eyebrows draw together in a frown, as he slowly turns. "Oh."

It's a small, strangled sound, and a lump forms in Blaine's throat when he hears it. He gently hands forward the flowers – Kurt takes the without another word. He's steadfastly not meeting Blaine's gaze.

"Oh, it's so sad," Tina breathes.

_I thought it was a Lifetime movie, boo-hoo._

"So I cry at Lifetime movies," Tina snots back.

"Aren't you gonna thank the kid for flying your old man out here?" Sam presses, gently, and Blaine is honestly pretty impressed – this isn't Sam just impersonating someone using one-liners and remembered phrases – he's pulling off a Burt Hummel that's so convincing that his own son doesn't realize the difference.

"Thanks, Blaine," Kurt shuffles a little. He turns around, deliberately putting his back to his ex-boyfriend, to address his father. "How was the flight? Did Carole stay at home? Is Finn still wearing those atrocious sweater vests? Did you already eat dinner?"

Sam laughs a little, and pulls Kurt into a hug. The boy's back is relaxd, no tension in the shoulders. Blaine feels a little better, seeing that. The last two times he'd actually seen Kurt – outside of when he'd been hiding under the clothing hanger, that is - he'd been all rigid lines and harshly held back shoulders. This boy is smiling, and sparkling, and full of life.

"Honestly, kiddo, I'm pretty wiped." Sam glances over Kurt's shoulder at Blaine and winks. "I think I'm just gonna hit the couch, if you don't mind. But I think you and Blaine might have a few things to talk about."

"I don't. . .Dad. . ." Kurt's voice is almost pleading. Blaine shrinks a little bit. He knows that he hurt Kurt, he knows, and it kills him, but he hadn't anticipated this level of desperation.

"Listen, buddy," Sam says. "He hurt you. And I'm not saying what he did was okay. . .it was so far this side of okay that when you told me, I wanted to take a shotgun and take him out."

Kurt's mouth lifts a little, and Blaine wonders if Burt had said those exact words – it wouldn't surprise him.

"What I'm saying," Sam continues. "Is that you two gotta talk. Neither of you has the closure you need. I'm not saying get back together. . .I'm just saying to talk. And _listen_, Kurt. I know how you get. Just listen, ok?"

"Okay," Kurt says, flinging his arms tight around Sam's neck. He whispers something, soft enough that Blaine can't hear it, but it brings a tender smile to Sam's lips. Kurt pulls back a moment later, straightens his shoulders, and beings marching to the door. "Well?" he says, turning around, not quite looking at Blaine. "Are you coming?"

Blaine nods, hurries after, and gives Tina and Artie a stern glare as they try to follow.

_Seriously_? Artie asks. _We're just supposed to stay here?_

Blaine doesn't answer – just shuts the door.

Xxx

"Well," Tina snorts, crossing her arms. "That was rude."

Sam sighs, relaxes his face, and drops the Burt Hummel impersonation. "It's not a movie," he says. "You've got to let them have their privacy."

"Mr. Hummel, could I get you something to. . ." Rachel pauses mid-sentence from where she's standing with an empty glass. "I. . .uh. . ."

_Tina! Do something!_

"I Persuade you not to find this weird," Tina says wearily, not even bothering to come up with anything better. Rachel's face smoothes into a smile, however, and she comes forward to hug each of them in turn.

"Sam, Tina, Artie! It's so great to see you all again!" She enthuses.

Xxx

"Ice skating?" Kurt asks, raising one eyebrow. "Blaine, you know how I feel about wearing rented footwear."

"Come on," Blaine says softly. "They're way better than bowling shoes, at least?"

Kurt is still glaring distastefully at the hockey boot, but he slides it on, anyway. Blaine can't seem to stop smiling – Kurt's being distant, and keeping him at arm's length, but at least they're together, and talking.

He waits until their on the ice, Kurt's face still carefully impassive, before he starts talking. They're skating awkwardly, slowly, keeping to the edges. Blaine wants so much to reach out and takes Kurt's hand – this is something they've talked about, ice skating in Bryant Park, early enough in the season that it's not glutted with tourists, the stars and the lights on the massive tree lighting up the tiny rink.

"It was a guy that friended me on Facebook."

That one sentence grabs Kurt's attention, draws his eyes around so that they finally meet Blaine's own. They glitter a little in the night air – maybe there are tears, Blaine isn't sure.

"It wasn't. . ."

"It wasn't Sebastian, or. . .or. . .or anyone. I didn't even know him."

Kurt nods. He shakes a little on his skates unsteady. He doesn't pull back when Blaine reaches out a hand to steady him. He doesn't melt into the touch, either, not the way he would have just a few months ago, but at least he doesn't scream and flinch away.

"Why'd you do it?"

"I felt like. . .and let me say this, Kurt, it's not your fault, it's nothing to do with you, and I'm sorry, _so sorry_ that I made it sound like that. It was just. . .I felt like you were moving on with your life and I. . .I wasn't a part of it."

Kurt stirs at that, pulls his elbow back. His face is closed off again. "Just because I was busy, just because. . ."

"No," Blaine says insistently. He pulls Kurt back, tight to his body. "No," he breathes, and maybe it's just that Kurt isn't expecting the closeness but he doesn't pull away. "Please," Blaine says, not ashamed to be begging. "Please just. . .don't get defensive, just please just listen.

"I got to thinking that. . .that maybe the distance was so hard, maybe the communication was falling apart because maybe. . .maybe we weren't meant for each other, maybe we weren't supposed to spend the rest of our lives together. You had this brand new life in New York and I. . .the worst thing, though, Kurt, the very worst thing is that right after I did it, I knew that was it. That you were the only one for me, ever. And I knew that I'd ruined it."

Kurt falls a little closer into him at that, shifting his shoulder in the way that he does so that it fits just so beside Blaine's own, lowering his head so that his breath is warm against Blaine's neck, his fingers perfectly interlocking. He doesn't say a word.

"I hurt you," Blaine says. "I know that. And I know you can't ever forgive me, and I know that I broke your trust. But I want you to know. . .you didn't do anything wrong, Kurt. You're so perfect, and I love you, I love you so damn much, and this is all just me, I'm not good enough for you."

"I'm not perfect," Kurt says. He glances over his shoulder. A single snowflake has fallen onto one of his eyelashes, and it hasn't melted yet. Blaine wants to reach up and brush it off, but the moment is too fragile, too delicate.

"No," Blaine says. "But you're so perfectly imperfect. . .and I promised that I would never stop reminding you of that. And then I went and did this thing and. . ."

"I thought you didn't want me," Kurt admits. There's the tears in his voice now, and when Blaine glances over it's not just his nose that's red anymore, from the cold, but the edges of his eyes. "I thought. . .I thought I wasn't enough for you."

"Kurt. . ."

It breaks his heart a little – what little is left to break, anyway – when Kurt pulls away and skates back to the exit. He clambers out, Blaine following shortly after him. They sit next to each other – it's awkward, but it's not as bad as it was, and the tension isn't full of anger and shame. They both take their shoes off – Blaine returns them and pays, and is gratified when he sees that Kurt is waiting for him just outside the tent.

"My dad was right," Kurt says, a trace of a smile flashing from beneath his tear-streaked cheeks. "We needed to talk. And I'm sorry, too, Blaine. I thought that by telling you about my life I was keeping you with me, but I wasn't, was I? It was just like my senior year. . .the more I talked about New York, the further away you felt."

Blaine doesn't know how to answer that – when he'd been reading Eli's facebook messages, when he'd been driving to the other boys' house, he'd wanted to blame Kurt. Hell, he'd desperately tried, in some twisted need to redeem his own actions. But he can't anymore. He messed this up, and he just doesn't know what more to say.

"I'm glad we talked," Kurt says. "And I forgive you. I understand. But I can't. . .I just can't forget it. You broke my trust and I can't. . .we can't get back together, Blaine. I just can't."

Blaine nods furiously. "I know. I get it. I know, I messed up. But could we. . .could we maybe try just being friends again? I _miss_ you Kurt."

There's a long, solid block of walking where Kurt doesn't respond – where Blaine's terrified that somehow he's fucked it up _again_, and no amount of superpowers will be able to fix it – before the other boy finally speaks.

"I'd like that," he says. "I'd like that a lot."

Xxx

_Tina. Tina, you really shouldn't do this_.

No matter how many times Artie reprimanded her, however, Tina was clearly having none of it. She just continued to sit sideways in the large chair, grinning at Sam and waving her hand. "Go ahead, Rachel, tell me some more."

"Oh, you're a far better singer than I am," said Rachel, enthusiastically smiling. "Really, Tina, you should have gotten _all_ of the solos back when we were in Glee Club. I was clearly over-rated."

Artie groans and leans back in his chair. He's going to have to talk to Nightbird about Tina's Persuasion powertrip when they get back home, because really, this kind of mind manipulatin is only one step away from the full on Dark Side, and. . .

"Oh, Artie is _faaaaaar_ dreamier than Finn ever was," Rachel agrees. Artie's head whips to the side, where he sees both Sam and Tina grinning at him wolfishly.

Well. Maybe he can wait to tell Nightbird about this. For a little while, anyway.

**A/N: So I have to be honest: when the Blaine cheating incident first happened I was **_**pissed**_** and thought it was totally OOC. But drawing out the guilt that Blaine feels – I think it's well-done, and I actually appreciate the fact that he full-out cheated. It plays on both of the boys' insecurities – the fact that Blaine has always worried about Kurt moving on without him, **_**leaving him behind**_** and Kurt's eternal worry about not being good enough for Blaine. The boys were too comfortable, and frankly co-dependent, and it's about time they both gained some self-esteem outside of one another.**

**COMING SOON: The New Directions need to plan a new mission, Nightbird has a conversation with the Dark Side, and it's the Winter Showcase at NYADA.**


	4. Alley Warfare!

12/30/2010

**A/N: I'm so confused. . .this story is, like ½ drama and ½ crack. **

Three bangs of the gavel, and Nightbird calls the Superheroes Society to order. "The Secret Society of Superheroes Club is now in session. The purpose of this club is to fight injustice, to right all of that which is wrong, and to preserve truth, justice, and peace in the halls of McKinley.

"The first order of business today is to address the number of complaints that the Student Council has gotten, and requests to improve the school. Blond Chameleon, please read the remarks."

"Wait, wait, wait," Tina says abruptly, standing and waving her arms to get everyone's attention. "Seriously, Blaine?"

"_Nightbird_."

"You can't use this club to take care of all your presidential duties. Do that on your own time!"

Blaine ducks his head, slightly ashamed. He does, of course, know better than to let his civilian persona take over in the Superhero Society. Still. Turns out that people have a _lot_ of grievances with McKinley, and between college applications, homework, his new Skype friendship with Kurt, Glee Club, the Zombie Apocalypse Survivors Club, the Sewing Club, the D & D club, track team, and his boxing lessons, he's not really sure how to fit it all in. But Tina makes a valid point.

"Fair enough, Asian Persuasion," Blaine inclines his head. "Unfortunately, we're pretty low on crime in Lima. Do you know of any other injustice we could fight?"

"Yeah," Becky says, sitting up. "We should get rid of toast!"

"I like toast," Brittany protests.

"But it's already been baked once. Why do you have to bake it again?"

Brittany considers, before nodding and raising her hand. "Good point. I second Queen Bee."

"What? No," Blaine shakes his head. "We are not waging a war against _toast_."

"I think we should go to Chicago. I would like to recruit the Situasian for our Secret Society," Tina suggests.

"Who's the Situasian?" Blaine asks. His nightphone screetches, and he glances down at it.

_Who is an Asian with amazing abs in Chicago_.

"What the. . .Tina, no. This Society was not founded to go chase after people's exes."

"Santana's in Kentucky," Brittany suggests.

_This is getting drastically out of control._

Blaine absolutely does not disagree with Artie's analysis. As though in instant reprieve, his nightphone screeches again, and for once it's not a playful text from Tina. Blaine bangs his gavel three times (he never knew that Wes' gavel lessons would come in so handy) before calling for a brief recess and hurrying into the hallway.

The number on the phone is familiar, but he can't place it off the top of his head. He clicks 'accept' and raises it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Blaine?"

The voice is familiar, too, and Blaine frowns. "Speaking. May I ask who is calling?"

"Yeah, it's Sebastian. Hey there, killer."

The frown deepens. "Sebasitan. Why are you calling me? How did you get this _number_?"

"Whoa, calm down there, champ. Hunter gave it to me."

Hunter. Of course. Blaine leans into the wall, resting some of his weight on it and slumping down a bit. He can hear the chatter of the New Directions inside, Sam, Ryder and Jake talking about football, and Unique and Marley gossiping as ever.

"What do you _want_, Sebastian? I'm not coming back to the Warblers – I left a note."

"Yes, that was very. . .polite of you." There's a pause for a long moment. Blaine's not going to break it – he's not the one who called in the first place, after all, and he doesn't understand why Sebastian won't just get to the point. Their last run-in had been at Sectionals. After Marley's impromptu fainting spell, and Blaine's ill-advised but desperate attempt to save the performance by breaking into a wholly acoustic rendition of "My Heart Will Go On," Hunter and Sebastian had come by to gloat.

_"Told you that you should have sided with the winning team," Hunter had said. His arms were crossed across his chest, one finger idly scratching at his sleeve – probably wishing he had the creepy cat with him, Blaine had surmised._

_ "Your solo was amazing, Blaine," Sebastian butted in. "Too bad that you guys didn't read the rulebook stating that performance of a solo would mean immediate disqualification."_

_ "Of course, not finishing a set would have disqualified you, too," Hunter tsked. "Really. Why didn't anyone give that girl a sandwich? Beside the point. Last chance, Blaine Warbler. We'd still like to take you with us to Regionals, and then Nationals. Add another trophy to your impressive collection."_

_ Blaine had considered, to his own shame. Not because he wanted to leave McKinley – no, he'd finally begun to feel like he belonged there. But. . .clearly Glee Club was over for the season, and he did like to win trophies. Ultimately, though, it had been Sam's gaze – betrayed, hurt – and he'd had to refuse, walking back to stick with his family._

"Anyway," Sebastian continues. "A little birdie tells me that you're headed to New York in a week for a Tisch callback. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Blaine says warily. "Somehow I don't think that you're calling just to congratulate me on the callback, though."

"Fair enough, killer, you're right. I'm actually heading up that same weekend, for an interview at Columbia. I thought I'd offer to let you travel with me."

"Wait. Let me get this straight. You want to be travel buddies?"

"Oh, I want a whole lot more than that with you," Sebastian says, his voice coming through in a low pitch. "Sorry, sorry. Old habits die hard. Yeah. I just thought it might be. . .nicer than being in the city all alone. That's all."

Blaine doesn't say anything for a moment, still trying to decipher. "Okay," he says, finally.

"Okay?" Sebastian sounds surprised, the shocked tone coming through even over the phone. "I mean. . .great. I'll email you details. See you soon, stud."

"Yeah, see you. . .soon." The last word is delivered to a dial tone, which isn't terribly surprising. Blaine just shakes his head before turning and walking back into the room, quickly calling everyone to order with a quick clap of his hands.

Xxx

The audition goes well, and Blaine knows that there will be a spot waiting for him at NYU. They didn't tell him, of course, but he knows – it's in the way that the auditioners had glanced at one another, tiny smiles playing at the corner of their lips, the way that halfway through his song they'd put down their pens and papers and stopped taking notes. He should feel great about it – instead, he just feels somewhat confused, being in New York and not going to see Kurt.

"How'd it go, babe?" Sebastian asks, unsticking himself from the wall the minute that Blaine walks down the front stairs of the hall. He grins a little. Sebastian makes a surprisingly great travel partner – he's amazingly considerate of other travelers, helping older women with putting their bags into the overhead compartment on the plane, offering Blaine the first go at the bathroom at their hotel, and requesting a new room from the concierge when it turned out that they had a single.

"It went really well," Blaine says. Sebastian peers at his face for a minute, before breaking into a broad smile, and bumping shoulders with the smaller boy.

"Still so modest, eh? I bet you're totally getting in."

Blaine blushes a little, and glances away. There are certain compliments that he's used to receiving – compliments from young girls, mostly, or from teachers. He stills feels shocked when a cute boy flirts with him – a cute boy that isn't Kurt, at least.

"Thanks," he says. "How was NYADA."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Sebastian says. "Did you know that their Winter Showcase is this weekend? And that your little hobbit friend – sorry, _Rachel_ – is starring?"

"What?" Blaine's head jerks up. He vaguely remembers Kurt mentioning that Rachel had some kind of a performance – he hadn't actually thought about going, but now that they're here. . .

"Just a short subway stop away," Sebastian wheedles.

Well. . .it couldn't hurt. . .

Of course, in New York there's no such thing as a _short_ subway stop, as the train gets held up for a while. When they eventually climbed out at 72nd Street and start heading toward Lincoln Center it's already turned dark. Blaine's about to mention that they should probably step it up if they wanted to make it in time for the opening act, when he hears something down one of the side streets. He abruptly stops, and Sebastian, who'd been walking just a step behind him, abruptly runs into his back.

"Ow, what the. . ."

Blaine holds a hand up, motioning for silence. He forgets for a moment that Sebastian isn't one of his New Directions, and thus doesn't need to obey his direction, but for whatever reason he does. He hears it again – a shocked gasp and the sound of a body being pushed up into the wall. Blaine darts toward the noise because, whether he's in costume or not, he's still a superhero and he can't stop somebody from having been attacked. He doesn't have his uniform with him – he's yet to figure out how to fit the chest plate under his regular clothes, and the skintight spandex is a _headache_ to pull off when he needs to use the restroom. He has his mask in his satchel, however, and it will have to be enough to maintain his secret identity. His fingers are itching to grab it as he starts hurrying across the street.

"Blaine, dude, where are you _going_?" Sebastian asks. He reaches out and grabs Blaine's upper arm. Blaine tries to shake him off, but he's not having any of it. "Blaine, _stop_. You're going to get yourself hurt."

Blaine twists this time, as he pulls away. He catches a strange expression on Sebastian's face – something that looks almost like concern. There's another muffled shout from the alley. Blaine sighs, and pulls Sebastian with him across the street and up onto the sidewalk. He whips the mask out of his bag.

"I'll be _fine_," he says. He ties the mask around his head, and lifts one finger to cover his mouth. "But you can't tell _anyone_ about this." Sebastian's mouth is hanging open at this point, but he's not trying to stop Blaine – _Nightbird_ – any longer.

He skids away, wishing that he had his cape with him – he knows that he looks a little ridiculous in his loafers and shawl sweater, with a mask on, but the most important thing is the mask, really.

He follows the sounds of struggle around one more corner, where he sees a tall, thin young man pushed against the wall. Two bigger men are holding him back, while a third one is looking through a leather briefcase.

"Hey!" Blaine yells. "Leave him alone!" Three heads jerk to look at him, and he throws his shoulders back. One of them laughs, sauntering over to him slowly. Gosh darn it, Blaine thinks. It's the sweater-black-mask combo. Still. Blaine drops into a boxer's crouch, hands coming up to guard position. He catches a half-glimpse of the victim's face, but then he's otherwise occupied with the man standing directly in front of him.

He ducks below the man's left jab, and comes up with a quick one-two to the chest. The other two muggers have approached, and it's all Blaine can do to keep up with the three of them, hopping back and forth on the balls of his feet. He's not superstrong, or superfast, but he's more agile than he was before, and he's able to evade most of the blows. But when one of them moves in closely enough that he can't break a hold, a second gets in one clear shot to his cheek. The blast of pain revitalizes him. He sweeps a leg behind him, pulling down the third, before bashing the remaining stranding muggers' heads together.

He stands for a moment, body still tense, fists clutched, as he recovers his breath. When the men make no move to stand, but just continue to groan and writhe around on the ground, he finally lifts his gaze to the victim – and immediately sucks in his breath.

"Kurt?"

Kurt, for his part, is just staring at him with eyes wide open. Blaine panics for a moment – he isn't wearing his uniform, there's no cape, it's just the _damn mask_ and Kurt is going to know who he is, how could he possibly not –

"Nightbird?" Kurt squeaks. His cheeks are stained a dusky rose, and he slowly raises one hand to hover nervously near his throat. "You. . .you know my name?"

"Er. . ." Blaine licks his lips nervously. He prays that it's too dark, and Kurt's still too shaken up to notice that Blaine's wearing the same sweater he'd worn last Christmas, or that he's wearing the ratty loafers that Kurt's wanted to throw out for years. "The. . .the girl you were with last time mentioned it. What are you doing out here?"

"I was on the way to the Winter Showcase," Kurt says, stepping forward a bit more into the light. "Rachel – that's the girl you remember – she has a starring role. And then these. . .these. . ._Neanderthals_ came out and tried to _mug me_."

Blaine can hardly keep a laugh in. The affront and indignation in Kurt's voice is just so very, very. . .well, Kurt. Blaine shakes his head. He puts one hand on Kurt's shoulder, and deepens his voice to its most heroic level.

"Well, be careful," he says. "I can't always be here to watch over you."

"Are you sure about that?" Kurt asks, and . . .oh God. . .he starts fluttering his eyelashes. Blaine's eyes widen, and he really does not know how to deal with this. On the one hand, he loves that Kurt is flirting with him again, but this time it's not. . .him, it's. . .this is the point where he would like to dramatically swish his cape, but he _can't_.

"Pretty. . .pretty sure," Blaine says, his voice cracking. He coughs twice, harshly, into his fist. "I have to go. Crime never sleeps. Stay safe, Kurt."

He turns and runs, at that point, and he tells himself that he's not running away from Kurt, but it feels an awful lot like he is. He expects to see Sebastian still waiting for him on the corner of 72nd, but the corner is now empty, aside from a Hispanic man almost absent-mindedly selling flowers. He rips the mask off his face, and presses it into his satchel. For a minute he still considers going to the Winter Showcase – he does love Rachel, she's one of his best friends – but then realizes that he can't risk running into Kurt again, not in the same outfit. The magic of the mask kept his ex from recognizing him, but he can't guarantee that it will continue to do so. Besides, his muscles ache, and his eye is beginning to throb. Plus, he's pretty sweaty.

By the time he reaches the hotel he's ready to slide into a warm bath, and potentially fall asleep. Hopefully Sebastian coming back will wake him up. He presses his key into the keyswitch, and gratefully opens the door. . .

Only to find Sebastian Smythe, dressed in his surprisingly unpreppy pajamas, staring at him with crossed arms. "You are Nightbird."

"Oh my God, please, can I just take a shower?" Blaine begs.

"Only if I can watch. Sorry, sorry just. . .I can't believe that you're. . ."

Blaine walks past him, straight to the bathroom, and turns on the tap. As he waits for the water to warm, he looks over his shoulder at Sebastian. "I assumed that you knew, after the nationals trophy thing, at Dalton. . ."

"We saw Nightbird and the Blond Chameleon running away, but we didn't see faces, and. . ." Sebastian shakes his head, and there's something akin to awe on his face. "Look, Blaine, I know that you don't have any reason to trust me, not after the slushy incident and everything, but I just want you to know. . .I won't tell anyone. I promise."

The crazy thing, Blaine realizes as he shuts the door on his former enemy's face, is that he does believe him. And, as amazing as it might be, he trusts him, too.

**A/N: What? Seblaine? Where did the come from? **

**COMING SOON: Blaine meets up with Kurt, who has a date, which is fine, because Klaine are just friends now, right? RIGHT?**


	5. The Fire Escape

12/30/2010

**A/N: Not the best chapter – half drunk while writing, sorry. But. . .I feel bad for the slow updates, so here you go, warts and all. **

Kurt is staring critically into his mirror, one hand holding a strand of hair aloft, the other brandishing his can of hairspray. His style just won't _hold_, but he knows that if he sprays any more he stands a serious risk of spontaneously combusting. Fashion or safety. . .always such a dilemma.

His musing are interrupted by the ring of the doorbell. Sighing, he puts the aerosol can down and grabs a bobby-pin. "Rachel! Can you grab the door?" he yells.

The best thing about going on a date with one of your roommate's classmates? Not awkward at all having someone else greet them. He hears Rachel scampering across the floor – she's recently discovered an area where the beams on the floor have been so worn that they make a perfect sliding ramp, and he can tell the moment that she hits them because the thuds become a hiss, and there's a brief clatter when she crashes into the arm of the sofa.

"I'm okay!" she yells. He shakes his head, brushes the stubborn bang back once more, and fastens his hippo head broach to the front of his vest. Perfection. He walks out of the bathroom, smile fixed on his face, and hand raised to wave hello at Paul.

Except that it's not Paul standing in the doorway. Instead, it's a goofily smiling Blaine Anderson, with a. . .oh, gross, _disgusting_ Sebastian Smythe at his side.

"What. . .um. . .what are you doing here?" Kurt asks. He knows that his eyes are darting back and forth between Blaine and Sebastian, and he hates that a little bit, but can't quite control it.

"I wish I knew," Sebastian says smarmily. "I've never been a fan of trolls, so I don't know why we went under the bridge and left Real New York."

"Sebastian, be nice," Blaine says. Kurt winces. There's something painfully familiar in the way that his ex admonishes the other boy, and something pulls in his chest at the way that Sebastian smiles a little but instantly stops talking. "Hi, Kurt. You look. . .wow. You look really great."

"Do I?" Kurt preens a little under the attention. "Thanks. I have a. . .er. . .a date." Is it awkward to talk about dating other people in front of your ex? Probably, but Kurt is caught off-guard. He hadn't been planning on seeing Blaine tonight, and especially not standing beside Sebastian _Smythe_ of all people. It's ridiculous, really, that they're posing as being friends now – only Blaine Devon Anderson would be capable of forgiving someone who practically _blinded_ him, and

Speaking of blinding. Kurt blinks twice and leans forward, one hand raised to brush gently at the purpling skin just below Blaine's right eye. "Oh my God, Blaine, what happened to your face?"

"Some people are just lucky enough to be born beautiful," Sebastian says. Blaine, however, catches Kurt's wrist, and pulls it gently away from his eye. He's blushing a little – only the tips of his ears turning red, and the slightest rose on top of his cheeks. It had taken Kurt months to realize that Blaine was even capable of blushing, and he's honored now to think that he's one of the few who can tell.

"It's nothing, Kurt, really. You know what a klutz I can be."

"Mm-hmm," Kurt says, his eyes darting to the meercat again. He clutches at Blaine's hand and gives a gentle tug, guiding him toward the fire escape. He shouldn't go out there – heaven knows that it's dirty, and he'll robably have to change, and then he'll be late for his date, but it simply can't be helped. Because Blaine is here, and present, and Kurt's stomach always gives a strange little twirl when he sees him.

The window sticks a little when he tries to open it, and he has to grunt a little as he pries it back, but eventually the two of them step out into the cold, New York air. Kurt's arms instantly circle his body, trying to retain heat.

"Okay, Blaine, I know that you guys made amends and everything, but is it really safe to be with him?"

"Safe?" Blaine glances over his shoulder, back into the room where Rachel and Sebastian are clearly engaging in the most awkward small talk of all time. Kurt, for his part, can't take his eyes off his ex. "Kurt, Sebastian is harmless. . ."

His words are broken off by Kurt's dry laugh. "Sorry," he says, in a voice that states very clearly how _not_ sorry he is. "Just. . .I've heard that before. And then two months later you were in the hospital because of a slushy-fueld hate attack."

Blaine sighs and shoves his hands deep into his pocket. Not for the first time, Kurt regrets the distance that's come between them. Four months ago he would have known exactly what Blaine was thinking.

"Let's be fair," Blaine says, but he won't meet Kurt's eyes. Instead, he's staring over the edge of the fire escape, down to the road where cars whiz by. "Sebastian never meant to hurt me. That slushie was meant for you – and besides, he told me that they never meant for it to get in your eyes, or in your face. The rock salt was just to enhance the stain, keep it from coming out in the wash."

Kurt sucks in a deep, harsh breath. This is territory that they've never explored before – they've always tried, as much as possible, not to acknowledge the sacrifices that they've made for one another – it would have cheapend their relationship, Kurt thinks, to have kept score like that. And Blaine never, _ever_ brought any of it up unless he was hurting. . .or unless they were no longer together, apparently.

Because the truth is – and Kurt knows this, he doesn't need to be told – the truth is that Blaine always sacrified more for their relationship. He went to prom with Kurt, even when he was terrified of the potential repercussions – he reached out a hand and danced with Kurt at the moment that could have been most dangerous. He'd been the one to transfer schools, to give up his friends and his security. He'd been willing to give up the lead role in the school play for Kurt – would have done it, if Kurt hadn't told him in the hallway after his audition that, with the pressure of college applications, he'd prefer to play a smaller role. Blaine was only hit with the slushy because he was pushing Kurt out of the way – and Blaine absolutely would have had the duet with Rachel at Nationals if he hadn't insisted that he would only sing with Kurt. And then, of course, he'd been the one to push Kurt to go to New York. . .even when it left him all alone.

He knows these things happened, but they've never said them. They hadn't needed to, because they weren't _sacrifices_, they were just things that happened. But then Kurt left and. . .well. Not that it mattered. In the end, Blaine had been the one to throw it all away, and he has to keep hold of that.

It doesn't change the fact that he doesn't trust Sebastian any farther than he can throw him, and he's terrified that the CW-haired, meerkat-faced prep boy will somehow hurt his best friend.

There's a hand on his face, suddenly, a gentle warmth against the New York chill, and Kurt almost melts into it before he remembers where he is.

"It's fine," Blaine says tenderly, his breath puffing out small clouds that circle above their heads before disappearing. "I took care of myself a long time before I met you, Kurt, and I can do it again." He moves then, to head inside, and Kurt's grabbed his elbow before he's even realized it.

"How did the auditions go?"

Blaine's face relaxes at the question, his eyes scrunching up and his smile broad and genuine. "Really good," he says. "Carmen Thibidoux gave me great feedback, and I think the people at Tisch liked me, too."

That hot, sticky pit in the bottom of Kurt's stomach gives way at that, and he smiles, too. "That's fantastic, Blaine! Just think, next year it could be you, me, and Rachel, all at school together, just like the good old days."

They're both smiling at this point, noses almost close enough to bump. Blaine's eyes flicker down and then immediately back up. Kurt sucks in a quick breath. "Better watch out for Rachel, though," he says, his voice higher and more tremulous than before. "She'll be absolutely impossible – giving out sage advice and. . .well. . .you know how Rachel is."

"Yeah," Blaine says, his voice husky. "I know. . ."

"Kurt!" Rachel's voice, strident and almost panic-striken, breaks the two apart. "Paul's here!"

The tableau is broken instantly—though Kurt does notice that Blaine is the one to pull away first. The other boy chuckles a little nervously, and reaches his hand up to rub over his hair, the way that he does whenever he's feeling anxious or out of sorts.

"You should. . .uh. . .go," he says, finally. "Enjoy your date."

"Okay," Kurt says, feeling a little dazed. He notices that he's still clutching Blaine's hand. He gives it one last, tight squeeze, before letting go. "Congrats on your auditions. I am really, really happy for you."

He crawls back into the apartment before Blaine has the chance to respond. Bright smile on face, he turns to greet Paul – tall, handsome, blond, blue-eyed, older Paul. . .who is the exact opposite of Blaine in every way possible. Every single thing is different. Kurt's heart regains its normal rhythm, and he takes in a deep breath before reaching out to take Paul's hand.

He's nothing like Blaine. It's perfect.

Xxx

Blaine bangs the gavel, three times, quick, solid, authoritative, before booming out in his most super-hero-ey of voices: "Updates! Asian Persuasian!"

"Yes sir," Tina says, lounging back and kicking her heels up on the table. Blaine sighs. He's really going to have to talk to her about proper superhero decorum. "The Situasian not only does not have any super powers, but also has no interest in coming back to Lima. He'd rather. . ." she pauses for a moment to lift her hand to make air quotes "concentrate on dancing."

Blaine sighs. "Blond Chamelon?"

Sam looks up, almost guiltily. "Uh. . .well, the synchronized swimming team looks like a solid contender for Nationals this year. . ."

"Dr. Y!"

"Bullying in the cafeteria is down 100% since the MegaStuds began patrolling – in civilian clothing, of course. This week the Human Brain and Femme Fatale will take on the girls' bathrooms."

Blaine pauses for a moment. _The Femme Fatal guarding the bathrooms? Isn't she the principle perpetrator of bullying among the girls?_

Artie just shrugs.

"Sweet and Spicy?"

"Oh my _God_ you guys," Sugar says excitedly. "Brit and I have been soo busy. We rescued all of the rats that were being experimented on at the lab downtown, and then we liberated the animals at the zoo. We brought all of the baby chickens at the grocery store back to their mothers and we saved Santana from the evil clutches of Lord St. James, Masterworld of the Underworld and we still had time to buy new crayons to finish our homework."

"Word," Brit says.

Blaine is trying to decide how to decipher any of that when a loud squawk emits from his Nightphone. He glances at Asian Persuasion, who quickly throws her arms up to show how uninvolved she is, before checking the message.

_I have something for you, killer. Come answer the door_.

A second later there's a knock. All of the heroes swivel in their seats, and Blaine stands up, his cape swishing dramatically behind him. He throws out one hand. "I've got this," he says imperiously, before heading to the choir room door and flinging it open.

Sebastian is leaning against the doorway, still in his Dalton blazer, an insidious smile plastered on his face. "Hey, handsome," he says, reaching out with his hand. "Got something for you."

Blaine is about to tell him off for the horrible sexual innuendos again, when he realizes that Sebastian really is holding something. Still a little distrustful, he reaches out and takes it, a small black box, a few controls, speakers.

"It's a police scanner," Sebastian explains. "I thought it would make things easier for you guys to do. . .you know, what you want to do."

Blaine turns the small box over in his hands, staring at it intensely. There's a part of him that wants to shrink away, to avoid this duty – it's too much, that part of him screams, it's too dangerous. He's just a kid, and they're all just kids, and it's too much to expect them to risk their lives every night.

There's another part of him, too, though, the part that stood up to a triad of bullies at a school dance, the part that spoke to a terrified blue-eyed boy, and then asked that same boy to dance. Courage isn't being unafraid – it's doing what you have to do, even when you're terrified. He takes a deep breath, and raises his eyes to meet Sebastian's.

"Thank you," he says.

**A/N: Seblaine friendship gives me all the feels. WTF. **

**COMING SOON: The New Directions fully embrace their superhero status: Brochel is on, despite Kurt's misgivings, and Sebastian continues to be unnervingly nice.**


	6. Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

12/30/2010

**A/N: What? An update? What is going on!?**

…**Sorry? :D **

Rachel doesn't know what's come over her roommate lately. He's been acting incredibly strangely, staying out at all hours of the night, singing only songs from Moulin Rouge and completely neglected the _Rent_ repetoire. He's been mugged twice in the past two weeks, and the strangest thing is that he doesn't lament his ripped clothing or the now lost $20.

She taps her foot and glances up at the clock nervously. 2:15 and still no sight of Kurt. She'd asked him to go grab a coffee around the street around 11 when Brody came over, but really. . .she'd told him an hour, tops. This is getting ridiculous. She's tempted to go out and look for him, but she doesn't have a death wish. Maybe she can call Brody. . .but no, he and Kurt don't exactly see eye to eye. She can call. . .she can call his boss, maybe, but she doesn't have Isabelle's number, and besides, Kurt would _kill_ her. . .same thing if she calls his dad, but Burt may be able to talk sense into him, at least, or maybe. . .

Her train of thought is mercifully cut off as there's the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the large, sliding door to their loft pushes open. She's off the couch in a shot, hands placed on her hips, eyebrows drawn together ominously.

"Kurt Hummel, I swear you are going to give me a heart attack one of these days!"

He just smiles at her, a little wan. Her eyes drink in his body – nothing torn, and he still has his satchel tonight, thank goodness. "Where _were_ you?"

"I believe _you_ told me to make myself scarce," Kurt says. He walks over to their makeshift kitchen and puts a kettle on. She goes to grab two cups and some packets of tea – rehearsed and together. Kurt smiles at her thankfully. She glares.

"I called Paul and we met up. That's it. He dropped me off in a taxi. I'm _fine_, Rachel."

She wants to point out – _again_ – the two times that he wasn't fine. She holds her breath, though, while he pours out the hot water into the cups, as he drops a touch of honey into hers and just half a teaspoon of sugar into his. Stir, smell, wrap hands around the warm cup. "Well," she says primly, after they're both seated. "I'm glad that you were safe tonight. But Kurt, I was so worried, I almost called your dad. . ."

That's enough to bring some life into her friend. His eyes shoot open and he stares at her, breathing in a little faster, a little harsher than normal. "No!" he squeaks. "Don't call my Dad – Rach, please. You know my dad, he'd be here in a heartbeat, if he didn't have a heart attack first, don't."

"Well," Rachel is smiling a little now, trying to hide it behind the teacup because she is finally, finally in control and knows exactly where she stands. "Then you have to tell me what's been going on with you lately. It's not safe, Kurt, and you know it."

A huff of breath, a famous Hummel eyeroll and then, finally. . .capitulation. Rachel has to remind herself not to celebrate. "Fine," he says. "It's just. . .it's stupid."

It hits her then, like a strike of lightning or a glorious eight octave range. Rachel leans forward. "It's him, isn't it?" There's a look of panic that flashes across Kurt's face. Rachel grins. She's always had amazing intuition – a certain sixth sense that has always helped her to get along with people. She's been told that she's very charismatic. Also – sensitive, she reminds herself, leaning forward to pat Kurt on the hand.

"It's all right," she says soothingly. "I mean, he _is_ very attractive. And he had a _very_ shiny, gay cape. But Kurt. . .you can't just wander the streets of New York at night, hoping that he'll come play Superman to your Lois Lane."

"I know," Kurt says with a sigh. "It's stupid, and it's reckless and. . .but there's something about him, you know? I feel like. . .I feel like we're connected, like he _gets_ me. I've never felt that way before."

"Never?"

He glares at her. "I'm not getting into this with you. We're friends, and that's it."

"Oh, you're friends now? I thought you'd only met the twice."

Kurt glares, his patented bitch glare, and Rachel worries for a moment that he might throw the scalding cup of tea into her face. Not only would the burns be devastating for her career, but it would probably hurt, too. She leans back, just in case.

"You wanted me to think of Blaine, and I did, okay? But we're friends. That's it. And it's good, and I'm glad that we're friends, but he's not. . .he's not mine anymore, okay? I'm dating Paul."

"And lusting after Nighthawk."

"And. . .well. . ." he points one finger at her, almost threateningly. "I know you have a photo of Adam Pascal hanging over your bed, and one of Norbert Leo Butz in your closet. And let's not even _talk_ about your Hugh Jackman and NPH shrines."

"I admire their talent," Rachel says, lifting her chin.

"And their derrieres." Kurt says.

And with that, they both break into giggles, because Kurt just said derrieres, and really, Rachel only has so much self-control.

Blaine groans and closes his eyes. The water went cold about ten minutes ago, and he can feel the ache creeping back into his muscles and bones. He should have taken a shower immediately after returning from the job – bank heists were no laughing matter, even in Ohio, and it turns out that while his superpowers include increased strength and agility, they do _not_ include invincibility or an increased pain tolerance. Turns out that being thrown into a wall hurts just as much as being hit with a baseball bat.

Good life fact to know.

So yes, after dropping Tina and Artie back at their places, he should have headed straight for the shower. And, to his credit, that had bee the plan.

But then Kurt had called. And Blaine had promised, what seems to have been a lifetime ago, that he would always pick up his ex's calls, so he'd sat there, bandaging himself up as best he could with one hand while listening to Kurt's detailed explanations of NYADA. Until two in the morning, when Kurt had regrettably mentioned that Rachel was probably going insane and he'd better head home.

At which point Blaine had gotten into the bathtub, and apparently fallen half-asleep. He wonders, idly, if it would be okay for him to just sleep in the tub – until a vision of his mother freaking out about Cooper drowning in bubbles jerks him fully awake. He clambers out, ties a towel around his waist, and falls face-first onto his bed.

He wakes up five hours later to the obnoxious ringing of his phone. Without checking which phone is ringing, he reaches out blindly and pulls it to his mouth.

"h'lo?" he mumbles.

"Blaine. You're five minutes late."

"Late?" Blaine glances blearily at the clock, which is a glaring 8:07. Shit.

It's the day of Regionals, and the Glee Club has an all-day practice. Blaine is not looking forward to the eternal catastrophe that is Finn trying to wrangle the members together. He knows that he should just be thankful that they're able to participate at all – Sebastian's hint and Sam's dutiful impersonation of Hunter Clarington had been enough to gather evidence that the Warblers had fixed the votes – or rather, convinced the Sectionals judges that it did not lay within their discretion to let New Directions finish their set – either way, the Warblers were out, New Directions were in, and for the first time it wasn't their _fault_ that they weren't prepared to perform. . .they hadn't known they'd be on until a day in advance.

Still, Finn will fumble, Tina will yell, Jake and Marley will be too busy making goo-goo eyes at one another to notice anything else, and there's a good chance that Kitty will try and poison someone. And in the end, it will come down to them performing _Some Times_, a duet between Marley and Tina, and he'll start them off with a solo.

New Directions is nothing if not predictable.

"Hurry your ass up!" Tina snipes into the phone. Blaine winces. He misses, at least a little bit, the demure, shy girl who had been around the year before. He supposes the New Tina is a good thing – at least she's whipping everyone into something that halfway resembles a team. Still. He doesn't want her snapping at him.

Xxxxx

Kurt Hummel is having a pretty good month. Yes, he's been mugged three times (and he is _never_ telling Rachel about the third time, because it hadn't even been purpose and it had been interrupted by a twelve year old socialite who had somehow browbeaten the mugger into handing back over Kurt's hippo brooch and apologizing politely before running away, and that is far too embarrassing for anything but the middle pages of US! Weekly (Stars! They're Just Like Us! They Rescue Twenty Year Old Idiots From Muggers!)). True, he'd walked in on Rachel and Brody seven times, had to talk Rachel out of posing nude for a student film, and been practically forced into joining Adam's Apples, the atrocious excuse for a glee club at NYADA, but he'd also made it into the school of his dreams, reconnected with his ex, and had a very healthy relationship with Paul, thank you very much.

So, pretty good month and all, Kurt feels a little ashamed Wednesday night when he realizes that the high point of his day will be logging on to facebook to see how the New Directions did at Regionals. He'd promised Rachel that he would wait for her to get back, but after approximately fifteen seconds of sitting on the couch and glancing at the clock, he gives up on that promise. It'll be fine. He got an A- on his most recent Theater assignment, so he's confident in his acting abilities. He clicks on to facebook, holds his breath, and prepares to scroll down to see Blaine Anderson when. . .

Well. That's strange. He's been at NYADA for about a month now, so the friend requests have largely died down – he hasn't gotten one in over a week, yet there, at the top left of his screen, is a notification. Preening a little (Rachel had stopped getting friend requests after just two days, after all) he clicks on it. And quickly deflates when he realizes that it is no other than Sebastian Smythe.

His initial instinct is to delete, denying knowing the smirky little meerkat, and continue on with his innocent internet stalking. But his hand pauses a little over the touchpad, cursor winking on the screen. Sebastian is friends with Blaine. . .and they're becoming increasingly good friends, he can tell, even if Blaine does try to deflect every time the horse-toothed boy comes up in conversation. It wouldn't hurt to just. . .

Kurt glances away when he accepts the friend request. If he doesn't look, it doesn't feel as dirty.

And then he's free to cyberstalk, and of _course_ the first picture he sees is one of Sam, Tina, and Blaine's faces smooshed together. They look tired, all three of them, bags beneath Blaine's eyes and Sam's smile a little dimmer than usual. They're smiling, though, and the caption is "WINNING" so Kurt has a pretty good idea of how they've done.

He scrolls down a little. . .there's a congratulations from Mike on Tina's wall, an accepted invite to Glee Girls Go #&$^ and then an instagrammed photo of a trophy. Kurt quickly types out his own congraulations before skimming over to Blaine's wall. The same photo is at the top of Blaine's, but there's nothing from before it other than a couple of conversations from old Warblers and Sams' spamming of the word "BLAM" (whatever that means.) Kurt shakes his head, and types in "So proud of you! Congrats, and you're going to kill it in. . ." and then he hits send, because he actually doesn't know where Nationals is this year.

He sits and waits for a moment, expecting Blaine to message him any second, but the screen is dark. He's about to see if anyone else is online when there is a tell tale giggling from just outside the door. He hurriedly logs off and practically throws the laptop back on to the coffee table, mere seconds before Rachel untangles herself from around Brody and joins him on the couch, clapping her hands excitedly.

"How did they do? How did they do? They don't have my voice, which must hurt their changes, but I'm sure they will still win!" Rachel is still jabbering and crowing away as she turns on the computer. Kurt catches Brody's eye, and they almost share a moment of commiseration over the wreck that is Rachel Berry.

But then Kurt remembers that he hates the smug jackass.

**A/N: Kurt. Kurt. So much lying. Stop lying to Rachel, Kurt. Stop lying to yourself. Also: I miss Sebastian.**

**COMING SOON: Turns out that being a Superhero isn't all Fun and Games. Sh*T gets Real, Son! Blaine learns that he has to slow down, Tina is a badass, and Sebastian comes to the rescue. SEBLAINE.**


	7. The Brawl By the Bar

12/30/2010

**A/N: All of the Seblaine feels. Also, I apologize for Paul instead of Adam – the story was started before there **_**was**_** an Adam, so now that there's Paul instead, Kurt doesn't. . .quite. . .see Adam the same way. Nothing personal, dude!**

"Oh my Gaga, Adam, for the last time, I'm not joining your joke of a glee club."

Kurt refuses to even look backwards. He still doesn't understand why NYADA even _has_ a glee club – it's a performing arts school, it's not as though anyone needs a creative outlet. Thank goodness Rachel had steered him away from _that_ disaster his first month of school. Besides, he still doesn't quite understand what a British import is doing at NYADA of all places.

Granted, Kurt does miss performing, but they're doing the Spring Showcase in a few months, and he's been cast in a student production (one that doesn't require taking his clothing off, thank you very much). And Adam seems like a nice enough guy, but what with Paul, and his burgeoning re-friendship with Blaine, and the naked monstrosity that is Brody there are more than enough men in his life as it is. In an attempt to avoid the overly enthusiastic senior, Kurt pulls out his phone and begins thumbing through the newsfeed.

No new superhero sightings in the City, which is disappointing. A pair of costumed maniacs stopped a bank heist in Lima, Ohio, of all things. The picture is fuzzy from the Lima Daily Press, but Kurt can tell that the pair of men posing ridiculously in front of the small bank (only one teller if he remembers correctly, and he's not even sure if its federally insured) seem to fill out their tights pretty well. And doesn't that just figure – two Nightbird appearances within a month, and then no sign of him for weeks. As much as Kurt hates to admit it, Rachel was right – it's a waste of time dreaming over his rescuer.

And, as they've both said repeatedly, they don't need someone to rescue them. But it's nice, sometimes, especially in a big city, far everyone from everyone he knows and loves, to think that somebody is looking over him, that somebody cares. Rachel doesn't count, since he still isn't entirely certain whether if a truck were barreling toward him at seventy miles per hour and there were free tickets to see Barbra Streisand just down the street, Rachel wouldn't go for the free tickets. Paul is new, and exciting, but he isn't safe just yet.

Nightbird, who Kurt doesn't know at all, really, feels safe for some reason.

He has to roll his eyes at himself a little, clambering up onto a bus to make the long trip out to Bushwick. Rachel continuously tells him to take the subway, because it's so much faster, but it also smells, and Kurt hates seeing the rats skitter away. The bus feels cleaner. Besides, he doesn't get a signal underground, and this way he can catch up on all his social media.

After checking the regular twitter feed (a glorious sale going on at Tiffany's, as if he could afford any of it, and he'll have to remember to drag Rachel out to Kleinfeld's for the weekend wedding expo) he flits over to facebook. Paul has posted a picture of the two of them at Tom's Diner, which Kurt instantly has to untag – he's smiling, and showing his teeth. He looks _weird_ when he smiles, so he tries to keep it off the internet. Sebastian has posted a new album. Kurt's planning on skipping over it when curiosity wins over and he clicks on it.

There are pictures of the Warblers, of course. Sebastian with Nick and Jeff, and even one with Thad. Kurt's surprised to realize that he doesn't miss them at all. They'd been such a pivotal part of his high school experience, but after the slushie incident he was happy to cut all ties, and he doesn't regret keeping in touch with them. After the deluge of Warbler pictures are a few, obviously self-indulgent photos of Sebastian simpering and pouting into the camera and then, bizarrely enough, a picture of Sam and Blaine, faces pressed tight together, wide smiles.

It's _weird_, and Kurt is seriously considering whether he should call Blaine and warn him that Sebastian appears to be stalking, when he notices that there are a series of pictures of the three boys together, all of them looking ridiculously happy.

_"I was with someone."_

_ "It was Sebastian, wasn't it?"_

_ "No, it wasn't. . .it wasn't Sebastian but that doesn't. . .it doesn't matter who it was with, Kurt_."

They don't even look good together, Kurt thinks vindictively, punching at his touchscreen until he's at the last picture, this one of just Blaine and Sebastian. The taller boy has whipped cream on his nose, and Blaine is rolling his eyes at the camera while sticking out his tongue. It's playful, innocent, and Blaine looks so goddamn happy that

The screen beeps with a notification. Kurt practically growls when he sees that it's the skank-nosed, horse-teethed, bargain-base-ment buying jackass Warbler. He almost punches at the screen.

**Blaine got into NYADA. And Tisch. Did he tell you?**

Blaine hadn't told him, and that rankled a little. Kurt typed back furiously. _Of course! Not that I ever had a doubt_.

**So I guess we'll be seeing your gayface in NY next year.**

** Or not, since you can only afford to live under the Bridge.**

We? _We_? What on earth did he mean, _we_? Kurt would never be seeing Sebastian again if he had his way, and certainly not if

Ding.

**Did Blaine tell you we're planning on living together? Dalton roomies, once again. Just like the good old days.**

Once again? What did he mean once again, they hadn't even gone to school at the same time, ohh, Kurt Hummel was getting ready to give the little meerkat a piece of his mind

Ding.

Kurt answers without even thinking, seething and putting the phone to his ear. "Are you trying to play some kind of a sick game? What are you going to do, try and"

"Kurt, Kurt, are you okay?"

It takes Kurt a moment to realize that the calming, tenor voice coming out of his phone, a little tinny from distance and bad reception, isn't Sebastian CW Smythe, but Paul. Kurt takes a deep breath, and lets his lips quirk in a smile.

"Oh my Gaga, Paul, I'm _so_ sorry you heard that."

"Bad day?"

"Well, Adam will not let _up_, and Cassandra came to class _lit_ again, which is really improper for any professor, but especially a woman of her age. And she was wearing purple legwarmers. _Legwarmers_, Paul."

A gentle chuckle. "So I'll see you over at your place with a bottle of wine and a handful of romantic comedys?"

A full-on grin takes over Kurt's face, and he doesn't care for once whether he looks good smiling or not. "Paul, you are an angel sent from heaven. See you soon."

He hangs up the phone, returns to facebook, and retags the photo from Tom's Diner. Take that, Sebastian. Game, set, score.

xxx

Tina Cohen-Chang is a badass. It's just the way things are. She's always been like this, really – at least in her own mind. Freshman year it manifested itself in dark clothes, provocative songs, and black make-up. Sophomore year it was dating someone a year older, convincing her principal she was a vampire, and managing to avoid all the slushies. As a junior, she'd left all of the pins in Rachel Berry's costumes. And now, as a senior, it's time for her to strut her stuff and rule the school.

For the most part, things have been going according to plan. New Directions is heading off for Nationals, Dottie is still her personal assistant, she may be only the Secretary on Student Council but she's totally calling the shots. Plus she's got the most badass superpower of all.

The only time Tina Cohen-Chang feels distinctly like something _other_ than a badass are these particular moments when she finds herself clutching a lamppost for dear life, while below her, her best friends are getting the shit beat out of them. And, just their luck, it turns out that motorcycle gangs, wearing helmets, can't be Persuaded by anyone. She grunts, pulls herself up just enough to hook one leg over the edge of the lamppost, and pulls out her phone. For the most part, she lets the boys have their fun (knowing she can swoop in at the last moment and Persuade whatever criminals they've found to give themselves up) but that clearly won't be an option tonight. And the Lima police, as useless as they are, at least will come with guns.

She manages to hit 9-1 before the lamppost is abruptly shaking, and it's all she can do to hold on to her phone. She glances down, terrified. Crumpled at the bottom of the lamppost is Sam. His blond hair is glinting up at her from beneath the glow of the lamp, and that's bad news in itself, because Sam's favorite way to chameleon lately is into Bruce Willis, which means if he were still conscious she'd be looking at a bald head. She bites her lower lip, and starts tapping in the numbers again.

It's all stupid Sebastian Smythe's fault. She tries to ignore the cry of pain from below – it has to be Nightbird, has to be, because the Blond Chameleon is unconscious, and it's far too deep to be Femme Fatal or Woman Fierce. Stupid Sebastian Smythe, ruining everything, yet again. She hadn't wanted to trust him, when he'd come to the New Directions meeting, holding the police scanner, and she'd lit into Blaine when he'd confessed that the smug Warbler knew about the secret identities.

"What were you _thinking_?" she'd practically screamed, seriously considering Persuading him to walk around in just his underwear all day, or punch himself in the face, or something to pay him back for selling them all out. But Blaine had just shrugged half-heartedly, and said, "Kurt was in trouble."

She does slap him for that one. He just looks at her with the wounded puppy dog look that he wears half the time anyway. "Don't you pout at me, Blaine Devon Anderson. You cannot use Kurt as an excuse for this. Sebastian knows. _Sebastian."_

"We can trust him."

"He almost blinded you with a slushie."

"He reformed!"

"He stole our Nationals trophy."

"Right, but. . ."

"He took steroids and cheated to win Sectionals."

"Yeah, but. . ."

"He is, quite literally, the least trust-worthy person any of us has ever met."

"Yeah, but. . ."

In the end, it hadn't mattered. Blaine with his pout, and Artie and Sam with their enthusiasm had won the day, and the New Directions had started trading off the police radio for patrol nights. Monday through Wednesday went to the sophomores: Blaine had secretly told her that it was because there was so little criminal activity those days. Thursday through Saturday were the seniors (minus Brittany, who was still trying to make up for the classes that she had skipped first semester). Every once in a while, when there was a particularly scary sounding call, they would call in Femme Fatal.

For the most part it was pretty good – they'd taken down some muggers, an arsonist, a couple of idiots trying to rob a 7-11 and a bunch of teenagers trying to theater hop. Tina would prefer that they use their powers for other things – she still hasn't given up on recruiting the Situasian, or winning Prom Queen – but she supposes that helping people is good.

Until, that is, they pick up a dispatch about some Hell's Angels outside Scandals. It's more dangerous than they usually go for, but Blaine had insisted. And while the night had started out fine – Femme Fatal taking out her whip and chasing the burliest of the men straight of the parking lot, Woman Fierce in hot pursuit – it had quickly taken a turn for the worst.

The worst now being the Blond Chameleon, slumped unconscious at the bottom of the lone lightpole, Nightbird being held up between two men while the final member of the motorcycle gang seems to be experimenting with whether it is possible to literally punch _through_ someone's chest to the other side, and Tina clutching onto a lightpole, on the phone with 911.

There's one ring before the the line is picked up, a woman's voice pitched almost too low and calm to be real.

"You've reached 911."

"We need the police," Tina gasps. She's crying – not a surprise, she's always been brought to tears by almost anything, and watching Nightbird being held up while repeatedly punched isn't just anything – "Please, please, they're going to kill him."

"Where are you?"

She gives them the details – she's gotten pretty good at this, since she and Artie are always told to stay back, out of the action. Usually she's calling them to have the police come pick up the trussed-up. She's never had to actually ask for help, and she feels distinctly helpless as she does now.

"She's calling the cops," one of the men from below says. "Stop fucking playing with the fairy and lets get out of here."

This isn't so bad, Tina thinks. She can see the Blond – oh, fuck it, she can see Sam's chest moving, so at least he's still alive, and Woman Fierce and Femme Fatal should be able to hold their own against the one perp that they'd chased down together. And now they're going to leave Blaine alone, and they can go home, and lick their wounds, and try and remember that they're a bunch for high schooler's, for Christ's sake, and not superheroes. The men below her drop Blaine's body, and he falls to the ground, boneless. She almost sobs with relief. Just then, there's a flash of red and blue lights through the trees, and the bikers drop Blaine, running toward their bikes. That's pretty impressive, Tina thinks idly. The police usually aren't this quick.

Tina shudders as she begins shimmying down the lightpost, her fingers catching and chafing against the harsh, cold metal. The bikers hop on their motorcycles and jet off, narrowly missing the black SUV still with its lights on. There's no alarm, which Tina thinks is a little strange, but she can't really deal with that right now. Sam is still slumped over, and Blaine is only making the feeblest of movements across the parking lot.

She practically falls over Sam as she gets off the lightpost, but it puts her at his height, and she begins frantically pushing at his shoulder, trying to wake him up. "Sam? Sam, oh my God, are you okay, Sam, please?"

"Outta the way."

Tina assumes it's the police, so she does as she's told, scotching back on her hands and feet, crab-style. She pushes her hair out of her face, gasping and trying to get her heart back to a normal pace. She glances up, and nearly bites her tongue in surprise.

"Sebastian? What are you?"

"Shit," Sebastian says. He snaps his fingers twice in front of Sam's face and then turns to take off across the parking lot. He leans over and hauls Blaine to his feet, ignoring the cries of pain from the boy. "Tina, bitch, _move_."

"Move what. . .where. . .I don't. . ." Tina can't even seem to get out a full sentence, she's just stammering out meaningless syllables. It's clear what Sebastian means, though, as he begins dragging a moaning Blaine toward his truck. "What are you _doing_ here? You're not the police."

"And you should thank your weirdass Chinese gods that I'm not," Sebastian sneers. "Get in the truck."

He practically throws Blaine into the back before jumping behind the wheel. Tina clambers in as well. "What about Sam? You can't just leave him!"

"Real police are on the way," Sebastian says. He slings one arm behind him and backs out of the parking lot, tires screeching. "They'll figure he's just some stupid gay kid who got jumped outside Scandals. Happens all the time."

He turns left, back toward Lima, and Tina gasps again. "Where are you _going_?" she asks. "We have to go to the hospital, where do you think you're going, oh my God, we left Sam, we. . ."

"Secret identities," Blaine coughs harshly behind her, hugging himself closer. Sebastian glances over his shoulder for a moment. Tina can't see his expression in the harsh light from the highway, but his eyes glitter darkly.

"Shut _up_," Sebastian says. "Tina, check him, see how badly he's hurt."  
"I'm f-f-f-f-fine," Blaine chokes out. Tina shakes her hand, her hands hovering above his shaking body. "I'm just winded, seriously. I've hurt myself worse boxing."

"_Really?"_ Sebastian asks incredulously. "I'm pretty sure boxing bags don't punch back."

"No, back at Dalton. . ." Tina can tell that Blaine is rolling his eyes, even in the darkness of the van. "You know the first rule, Sebastian."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Tina asks worriedly.

"Positive," Blaine says. "More embarrassed than anything. I mean, I just got my derriere handed to me by a pair of overweight hoodlums."

Tina giggles a little at that. Hunched over the wheel, Sebastian's face is still drawn and angry looking. "I should never have given you the police receptor." He says stonily.

"Sebastian, it's fine," Blaine insists. "We might have taken on a little too big of a job, but we'll get better. Live and learn."

"This isn't about your optimistic drivel," Sebastian snarks. "Sam could be hurt. _You_ could have been hurt. You all need to stop playing drag queen and dress up."

"Aw," Blaine smiles a little, tilting his head to look at Tina. "Can you believe it, lady? It actually sounds like mean old Sebastian might _care_ about us."

"Shut up."

"He's _worried_."

"Don't make me pull this car over."

"I think he _likes_ us."

Tina glances back at their driver. She's a little nervous about Blaine's gentle teasing – unlike him, she still doesn't fully trust the other boy, and she's not entirely certain that he won't just pull over to the side of the road and kick them both out. When she looks at him, his knuckles are still tight and white on the steering wheel, but there's a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I like your tight little ass, Anderson, and I'd had to see it smeared across the concrete by a couple of gang wannabes. If anyone's going to pound you, I want it to be me."

Blaine laughs.

Xxx

**Kurt.**

** Kurt, are you there?**

** Ok, listen, Gayface, I know you don't like me much, but there is one thing we have in common.**

** We both like dicks.**

** More specifically, we both like Blaine. **

** So get whatever stick is shoved up your ass out, b/c its obviously not the good kind, and give him a call. **

** . . .**

_**Please**_**.**

**A/N: SEBLAINE. That is all. And no worries, Sam is fine, he'll be back next chapter.**

**COMING SOON: MegaStuds take over New Directions while the seniors rest up from their recent mishap, Kurt debates getting serious with Paul, and the Big Bad enters the picture. (Hint: it's not remotely bicurious and might be running an escort business on the side.)**


End file.
